


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by mizmahlia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmahlia/pseuds/mizmahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots involving the Winchester family, their friends and their adversaries, from banshees to werewolves and everything in between. Some will follow canon, others will be totally AU and each chapter will focus on a different entity. A few chapters may include character death. See the summary at the beginning of each chapter for any warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Banshee

**Author's Note:**

> This piece will be 31 chapters in length, nearly all of which being one-shots. It was a tumblr meme I stumbled across a long time ago and started, but never finished. And since I'd taken such a hiatus from writing any fanfiction, I thought this was a good way to ease back into the water, so to speak. Each chapter will feature a different supernatural being or creature and some chapters will reference episodes of the show.
> 
> Apart from the occasional curse word and mention of injuries, this will be rated K+. The usual disclaimer about Supernatural and its characters not belonging to me and that I make no profit from any of this applies.

 

 

 

_The banshee (in Irish folklore) is a spirit in the form of a wailing woman who appears to or is heard by members of a family as a sign that one of them is about to die._

He first heard the scream as he lost consciousness in the back of the Impala.

Sam was driving them to the hospital and the two of them were yelling at each other in the front seat, as they always did and as fiercely as ever. John was berating Sam for not using the Colt to kill him and take care of their demon problem. Sam, in turn, was trying to explain he didn't have it in him to kill John and there had to be another way to do this, raising his voice to try and talk over his father. Dean grinned darkly; Sam should know better than to try and talk over Dad. He'd lost every time he'd tried- no one could yell like John Winchester.

As they continued arguing, Dean glanced out at the window at the stars up in the sky and thought for a moment and decided he was on Sam's side. He wouldn't have had the stones to shoot his father, either. It's the reason he'd _begged_  Sam not to and he'd be damned if he was going to feel guilty for doing that. Dad didn't need to die to solve this. Saving Dad was all that mattered because he was the one who could get this done- the one who could take out the bastard that killed Mom.

Sam swerved the car after he'd turned to yell at John again and Dean cringed at the sudden movement, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. His internal organs felt like mashed potatoes and whenever his heart beat it actually hurt; whatever the YED had done had nearly killed him and he was having some serious trouble breathing. He was trying so hard not to panic that he barely noticed the blood continuing to ooze down his chin as a piercing shriek nearly ruptured his ear drums.

He forced his eyes open and looked around, trying to find the source of the noise when he heard it again. Wincing at the pain in his head, he realized Sam and John couldn't hear whatever it was. If they had, he would bet they still wouldn't be yelling at each other. He flipped through his mental catalog of monsters, demons and all things nasty, trying to figure it out. Thankfully his brain didn't have to get very far into the table of contents before he figured it out.

The scream of a woman, only audible to the person in the car who was closest to death.

A banshee.

_Oh, shit._

Her next agonizing scream nearly blew out his ear drums and between her god-awful wailing and the intense pain in his chest, he felt himself slipping further and further away. John's and Sam's voices continued to fade into the distance and all he could hear was her mournful crying, the noise so loud it was making him nauseous.

_Please, God, just make it_ **_stop_ ** _._

Her next scream was abruptly cut off by the high-pitched squeal of brakes. Sam had stomped his foot to the floor trying to avoid something and as whatever it was hit the Impala, the only thing Dean could feel was the relief that her wailing stopped. He had no idea that a Mack truck driven by a demon had plowed into them, sending them careening off the highway and into the ditch.

As the faint notes of 'Bad Moon Rising' trickled into the back seat, only one thought crossed Dean's mind before everything went dark.

_At least she stopped screaming._


	2. The Siren

**Chapter Two: The Siren**

_In Greek mythology, **Sirens**  were dangerous and devious creatures, portrayed as femmes fatales who lured sailors to their deaths with their enchanting voices._

"Dean, we've run into sirens before. Bronze knife dipped in the blood of the victim. Easy as pie."

"Mmm. Pie. I could really use some pie. I noticed a diner on the edge of town..."

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh, holding the knife out to his brother. "You can have your pie later. Right now we have a chance to go Michael Myers on that siren. Let's get to it."

Dean shrugged and took the knife from Sam, sliding it into a sheath beneath his arm. Sam grabbed the duffle bag and glanced around the motel room, checking to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. When Dean raised his eyebrows in question, Sam gave a single nod.

"We're good."

"Then let's kill this thing."

* * *

Unlike their last encounter with a siren, they didn't find themselves in a strip club studying the dancers. This time, they were hiking through the woods of northern Minnesota in November, hunting down the siren that was luring people to their deaths from atop a granite bluff overlooking Lake Superior. There were a few inches of heavy lake-effect snow on the ground and the forecast called for another ten to twelve inches that night. The wind picked up, whipping wet snow against their chests.

"She couldn't have chosen a place like Palm Beach?" Dean muttered, adjusting the collar of his jacket.

"I don't know, I've always wanted to see the North Shore," Sam said. "Remember one of Dad's last journal entries? He made the trek up here once after taking care of that wendigo when we were kids. He wrote about taking us camping up here."

Dean didn't say a word, the mention of Dad and their camping trips stirring up memories Sam obviously didn't have. Their camping trips had been no more than hunts in disguise, staying in tents instead of motel rooms, bathing in cold streams instead of taking hot showers. He could rough it like the next guy, but he hated sleeping in tents. His back was in terrible shape and sleeping on the ground left him sore for days.

They came to the end of a hiking trail that opened into an empty parking lot. The Split Rock lighthouse loomed ahead in the darkness, the large, crystal mechanism rotating at the top, spilling a beam of light out into Lake Superior. Dean glanced up, watching the light cut through the darkness, wishing like hell they weren't about to do this.

"Listen, Sam, if you don't want to do this, I can…"

"Just make sure you gank her before she walks me off the cliff." Sam turned around and looked at Dean. "Really, I can handle it."

Dean said nothing and retreated to the woods a few hundred yards away. As he crouched down and began arming himself, headlights flickered and a late model pickup truck drove into the parking lot. A tall brunette climbed out of the cab and grinned when she spotted Sam. Dean didn't miss the predatory look on her face before she slammed the door behind her, extinguishing the dome light in the cab.

He rifled through his bag, quickly locating the set of ear protectors he'd brought to block out the sound of her voice. Worn by baggage handlers at airports, they could block the sound of jet engine noise so he was fairly confident they would also block the song of this siren who was now only a few yards from Sam. Before she could start talking, Dean put the ear protectors on and instantly felt uneasy, having his sense of hearing completely taken away.

Sam watched as Fiona approached him, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

"Sam! I wasn't sure you'd come." She wrapped her hands around his, her long, cold fingers squeezing his firmly. His hands and wrists started tingling as she tightened her grip. He realized she marked her prey not with her voice, but with her touch. And she could turn it on and off at will. Before he realized how quickly he'd been affected and could pull his hands away, he heard himself speak.

"I had to see you again."

She let go of his hands, instead reaching up and caressing his cheek with her fingertips. Sam closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, forgetting about the cold, the steep drop onto the rocks behind him and that Dean watching from his post in the trees.

"You thought you had me all figured out," she said quietly, a touch of venom in her voice. "You come here, try and stop me from doing what I, what  _all_  of us do." Her voice hardened. "What gives you the right?"

Sam opened his eyes and looked down at her, puzzled at her tone. "I would never hurt you. I would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe."

She stepped back and walked to the fence, looking out into the darkness. "Even protect me from Dean?"

"My brother Dean? He wouldn't hurt you. Even if he wanted to, I wouldn't let him."

Her back still turned to him, she grinned wickedly. "That's what I like to hear. Now, I need you to do something for me."

Sam was instantly at her side. "Anything."

Her eyes darkened as she spoke.

"Jump."

Dean watched as Fiona and Sam stood at the fence. He'd been reading Sam's lips, following his half of the conversation. Sam was under her spell, as planned, and now was his chance to end it. He hadn't failed to notice how Sam responded when she touched him. His gut telling him he needed all five senses, he ditched the ear protectors and left his hiding place, stalking along the tree line. He had to close the nearly three hundred-yard gap quickly, before she convinced Sam to jump. When he saw Sam approach the fence and his lanky legs begin to climb over it, he took off sprinting toward them.

"SAM!"

Fiona turned and as he ran, Dean saw the absolute fury in her eyes at his interruption. He felt a sense of satisfaction in pissing her off. Sam didn't move and remained at his perch, sitting on the edge of the fence, poised to jump into the darkness below.

"Sam, darling, do as you're told," Fiona said quickly, knowing she didn't have much time left.

"Sam, don't. At least, not until I get something from you first."

Sam startled and turned toward Dean, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. Fiona looked at Sam, then back at Dean.

"You aren't going to stop him?"

"Nah," Dean said. "I don't think I could- he's got a few inches and about twenty-five pounds on me." He drew the bronze blade from its sheath and whispered an apology to Sam as he grabbed his sleeve and wrenched it up, slashing the blade against his forearm. Sam winced and pulled away, confused. "But I can stop you."

Dean turned and lunged at Fiona, who barely managed to avoid the blade. She shot a panicked look toward Sam, who was watching the scene unfold with blood running down his arm.

"Jump, Sam. Do it for me."

Dean spared a look behind him to check on Sam, who was leaning forward and preparing to let himself fall.

"This happened to us once, it is  _not_  happening again," Dean muttered. He rushed at Fiona, tackling her around the waist and pinning her to the ground. Her long legs thrashed wildly as she tried to hold the knife in Dean's hands away from her chest. He pushed harder, the tip of the knife piercing the skin on her chest.

"Fiona!"

She stopped struggling long enough to look over at Sam and Dean took the opportunity and wrenched the knife down and into her chest. Her mournful scream pierced the cold night air and he fell back, clutching at his ears. Her scream died as she did and Dean scrambled to his feet, turning back toward Sam. He was on his hands and knees in the snow, head hanging low and breathing heavily.

"Sammy?" Dean staggered toward his brother, his lungs protesting the exertion in the cold air with a hacking cough.

"I'm good." He rocked back on his heels and slowly stood up, noticing the gash on his arm. He winced and flexed his hand, trying to determine if Dean had nicked any muscle. "Did you have to cut so deeply?"

"Don't be such a baby. You'll barely have a scar by the time I finish stitching you up," Dean replied, handing Sam his jacket. Sam craned his neck to find Fiona, but all he saw was dirty, grey snow next to Dean.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek and turned away from Dean, looking out at the lake. He remembered almost letting go of the fence before Dean finished the job and even for a few seconds after he could still hear Fiona. But after she was gone, he still heard someone in his head, the mocking voice telling him to jump because Sam would never be able to get away from him or block him out.

"Sam?"

He blinked several times and turned around, his back once again to the lake. "Yeah?"

"You coming? It's too damn cold out here to gawk at a lake you can't see."

"Right." Sam took the bandage his brother held out to him and covered the wound on his arm, pressing down much harder than necessary in an attempt to drown out the voice as they walked back to the car.

_See you soon, Sam. I hear Detroit is **lovely**  this time of year._


	3. The Revenant

**Chapter Three: The Revenant**   
  
_A revenant is a visible ghost or animated corpse that was believed to return from the grave to terrorize the living. The word "revenant" is derived from the Latin word, revenans, "returning"._

* * *

When Dean was thirteen John took them cross country to stay in South Carolina for six months. John never said why and Dean had never asked. Sam absolutely hated the heat and the humidity, but Dean didn't mind it. He always had responded well to the heat and the humidity had been a welcome change from the hot, dry heat they experienced in Utah the year before.

They lived in a tiny fifth-floor apartment up the coast from Myrtle Beach, complete with a view of the ocean. Whenever he had the free time, Dean could be found sitting on the balcony, slouched down in an old plastic lawn chair, ankles crossed and feet propped up on the railing, watching the ocean and listening to the waves wash ashore. Sometimes John would join him and they'd sit in comfortable silence, letting their stress and weariness recede into the water with the waves.

One exceptionally balmy July evening, Dean was out on the balcony trying to etch the sights, sounds and smells into his memory. He couldn't imagine himself ever settling down, but if he did? He imagined it would be in a place like this, close to the ocean and away from the chaos and stress of big-city life. Just as his eyes closed, he heard footsteps approaching and Sam quietly joined him outside.

"Dean? Dad wants you. Something about a job." Sam sat down on the patio next to Dean's chair, his long arms wrapped around equally long and awkward legs. He looked up at his brother when Dean sighed.

"Alright. He tell you anything about it?"

Sam shook his head. "No, all he said was something about a revenant."

Dean snorted. "Nice." He moved to go inside but paused a moment. "You can have the chair. I likely won't be back for a while."

Sam tugged a worn paperback book from his back pocket and Dean caught a glimpse of the title.  _Where The Red Fern Grows_. He smiled. He'd read that to Sam a few years ago during long car rides, when he used to get so car sick. Dean reached down and ruffled Sam's hair. He was already reading as he climbed to his feet to get to the chair.

"Nerd."

Not looking up, Sam smiled and pointed his pen light at the pages of the book. "Jerk."

* * *

John filled Dean in on the creature during their drive to the plantation house.

"The guy was a soldier during the Revolutionary War, an American fighting with the British. He set traps along the routes the American soldiers marched and when he caught someone, he tortured, killed and made examples of them."

"His version of a traitor's death?"

"Mmm hmm. When the British found out, they had him hanged and buried on the grounds of his own plantation."

"And now his corpse is harassing his descendants?"

John glanced at Dean, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's an understatement. He killed the caretaker by pushing him off the roof and onto the wrought-iron gate in back of the house. And he's made two of the three children sick."

"So what do we do?" Dean straightened and glanced out the front window as the Impala turned onto a long gravel drive. The home was enormous, with a wrap-around porch on the first and second stories. There was a man on the porch dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

"We dig him up, cut off his head and roast him."

"And if he's out wandering around?"

"We save ourselves some work not having to dig him up. We skip right to cutting off his head and roasting him."

"Easy enough," Dean said, climbing out of the car.

"Revenants are nasty things, Dean. We're not dealing with a salt and burn here. Be careful."

* * *

Nearly three hours later, John located the gravesite. It was an above-ground tomb just large enough to hold a corpse. There was no name on it, but the bloody dirt trail that led into and out of the limestone box was proof enough they'd found their target.

Dean cautiously peered into the tomb. "Uh, dad? He's not here."

"I didn't think he would be. Let's seal the tomb so he can't get back in. Then we wait."

"I don't think we'll have to wait long." Dean pointed his flashlight at John, into the darkness behind him.

"He behind me?" John drew the machete from his duffle and Dean nodded.

"Yep."

"Get the lighter fluid ready."

John tossed the sheath for the machete to the ground and turned. Their culprit, one Edward James Harrington, was standing before him. The filthy, tattered remains of a red jacket hung from his rotting frame, strands of grimy hair clinging to his skull. Dean covered his nose and mouth because of the stench.

"E.J. Nice of you to join us," John said. He raised the machete and E.J. charged.

Dean watched as E.J. tackled John and bashed a bony fist against John's left temple, laying open an inch-long gash. He clutched the lighter fluid in his left hand, his right hand aiming the flashlight at John. The machete had landed about two feet out of John's reach. Dropping the lighter fluid, Dean rushed to help. He grabbed the machete and raised it above his head, ready to decapitate E.J. E.J. turned and noticing Dean, he stood.

"Bring it on, bonehead."

He swung the blade as E.J. charged and lopped off his right arm. E.J. looked down at his arm twitching in the wet grass and shrieked. Dean dropped the machete and covered his ears, rendering himself completely defenseless. When the noise stopped, he straightened and uncovered his ears in time to catch the back of E.J.'s right hand across his face, hurling him backwards until he collided with a massive willow tree. He landed in a heap at the base.

Dean groaned and rolled over, his shoulder dislocated. He spared a glance at John, who was creeping up behind E.J. as he made his way toward Dean with the machete in his hand. When E.J. reached down and took hold of Dean's throat, John swung the blade. His grip instantly released him and Dean watched as his head went rolling.

John doused E.J.'s head and body with lighter fluid, struck a match and dropped it onto the still-squirming corpse. With one last shriek, E.J. went up in flames and all movement ceased. John crouched next to Dean, whispering in his ear that he needed to set Dean's shoulder.

Dean clung tightly to John with his good arm as John grabbed the other, rotating and tugging on it to reset the joint. Dean cried out, the sound muffled against John's shirt. He breathed a sigh of relief, resting a large, calloused hand against the back of his son's head, pretending not to hear Dean holding back an anguished sob. John counted his blessings every day, and today he was blessed to get through another hunt with Dean. He dreaded the day when his luck ran out and until then, he would do everything in his power to train his boys, to keep them safe.

He picked up Dean and carried him back to the car, glancing one last time at the smoking remains of the revenant as he passed. He couldn't help but wonder if Mary approved of his efforts to look after their boys. 

He hoped so.


	4. Hellhounds

**Chapter Four - The Hellhound**   
  
_A hellhound is a supernatural dog found in folklore. A wide variety of ominous or hellish supernatural dogs occur in mythologies around the world, similar to the ubiquitous dragon. Features that have been attributed to hellhounds include black fur, glowing red or sometimes glowing yellow eyes, super strength or speed, ghostly or phantom characteristics, foul odor, and sometimes even the ability to talk._

 

When Sam was seven he had a turtle named Sheldon who only lived three weeks, or just long enough for Sam to develop quite a bond with the creature. So when it died, he was left devastated. Taffy the hamster was next and she only survived two weeks. (Dean _hated_ Taffy because that little fluff ball had bitten through his right thumbnail _twice_ while he helped Sam clean its cage.) So when Sam asked for a dog, John said absolutely **not** , no more pets. Dean even tried to reason with him, saying a dog would teach Sam some responsibility and they could use a guard dog. John promised to think about it but the topic was never brought up again. Dean was disappointed because he'd always wanted a dog, especially since their neighbors in Lawrence had a German Shepard named Max who was all kinds of awesome.

Always the persistent one, Sam asked for a cat six months later. John said **hell** no and Dean laughed when Sam pulled his bitchface routine and was punished by being assigned to laundry detail for a month. That was the end of the pet discussion with John, but both Dean and Sam still wanted a dog and often talked about what they would name it and what breed they would get.

* * *

Two weeks before the anniversary of Dean making his deal, he started hearing dogs everywhere. The sound was nothing like the harmless bark of a poodle from a living room window or even like a Rottweiler behind a chain link fence. The barking and growling he heard was much louder, much more menacing and downright terrifying. The fact that he was the only one who could hear it made it worse, since he had to pretend everything was fine to prevent Sam and Bobby from smothering him with feelings.

(If he were to be honest, he wouldn't mind that happening, but he knew that his stoicism and terrible jokes were the only things keeping all three of them from losing it completely.)

The closer Dean got to the clock running out, the louder and more terrifying the growling became, getting to the point it sounded like the creature was just out of sight. All the books and stories he'd read about hellhounds hadn't prepared him for this and he cursed his Winchester luck that his hallucinations would be worse than most. Sleep had become impossible and his nerves were beyond shot, so when Sam proposed they enlist Ruby's help to get Dean out of his deal, Dean absolutely snapped and barely stopped himself from beating Sam senseless. Ruby? Helping them? Right. That sounded like an _excellent_ plan.

He could handle seeing demons in their true forms; he'd seen enough nasty and scary creatures throughout his life that a demon's ugly-ass face didn't bother him all that much. He and Sam had hunted all kinds of horrifying things, but being scared of them didn't do you any good. Suck it up or wind up lunch for zombie or a snack for werewolf.

Hellhounds, however, now _those_ were different.

Turning around and laying eyes on one for the first time nearly stopped his heart. The hair on his neck and arms stood up, his stomach churned and a cold sweat broke out on his back as it stared him down, two blood-red eyes bored deep into his. The hackles on the enormous hound were raised and it was crouched, ready to sink its two-inch fangs and razor sharp claws into him. He was so terrified he almost missed the horrific stench emanating from it, the smell of burnt and decaying flesh wafting toward him whenever it snarled or growled. The thick, black fur was caked in blood and dirt. When it moved to pounce, Dean reacted.

He, Sam and Ruby bolted up the stairs as the clock struck midnight, slamming the door behind them and pouring down a line of goofer dust. Sam was losing it, his eyes darting frantically around the room trying to figure out a way to save Dean. When Sam's eyes locked with his, Dean was able to block out the growling come from the hellhounds just outside the door. For the first time in weeks all he heard was the erratic beat of his heart in his chest and the sob Sam smothered in his throat as he realized there was no time left. Dean's deal had come due and there was no stopping it.

The next few moments passed too quickly to recall clearly, but Dean remembers being thrown on the table by Lilith. He remembers the doors opening and the three largest, meanest and ugliest dogs he'd ever seen stalk into the room, blood drooling from their snouts and their claws scraping against the hardwood floor. One lunged and grabbed his boot, jerking him onto the floor where the other two joined the attack. His head mashed the edge of the table on the way down and he saw stars for a few moments.

Sharp claws and teeth easily tore through Dean's skin and muscle tissue, the pain shooting straight past awful to excruciating as they hit bone, cracking his forearms like pencils. He was fading fast by the time they started in on his chest and abdomen a few seconds later, so he was mostly unaware that his torso was being sliced into ribbons. He focused on one thing: the sound of Sam's voice. The familiar deep tones of his little brother as he pleaded with Lilith to stop the hounds would have broken his heart, had the hellhounds not destroyed it already.

As his life drained from his body and he felt himself falling into the depths of Hell, apart from Sam and his wellbeing, only one other thought crossed Dean's mind.

 _I freakin'_ _**hate** _ _dogs._


	5. The Leviathan

**Chapter 5 - The Leviathan**

leviathan (lɪˈvaɪəθən)

— n

1\. Bible a monstrous beast, esp a sea monster  
2\. any huge or powerful thing  
3\. anything of immense size and power, as a huge, oceangoing ship.

* * *

Castiel had seen more than his share of evil in the world. He'd also seen evil so unimaginable there were no human words for it. That's what he had saved Dean from, or at least he _thought_ he'd saved Dean from. There were times Castiel doubted whether he had reached Dean in time, reached him before Dean done something well beyond what even an angel of the Lord was able to fix.

In this case, making that deal with Crowley, planning to take the souls from Purgatory and use them to his advantage… well, that would be what Dean commonly referred to as 'bat-crap crazy'. Dean just didn't understand the plan and Sam didn't, either. By not involving them or telling them he was working with Crowley, he really believed he was saving them. For once he wanted to bear the burden himself; the Winchesters had done enough. It was Heaven's turn to step in. And while he had been nervous, at first, making the decision to work with Crowley, he was strangely at peace with the idea.

Now, however, after consuming the souls confined in Purgatory, he felt something different. Something dark. Something evil. Something… _enormous_. And whatever it was, it was pushing and shoving at Jimmy Novak's insides to such a degree it made even Castiel uncomfortable. As he left Dean, Sam and Bobby behind in that room, the scorched remains of his brother Raphael burned into the floor, the darkness inside him invaded his mind and whispered. Its voice was like lava oozing up the back of his mind.

_"You know what we are, Castiel. You know what you've brought into this world. And you know what will happen."_

The hair on the back of Jimmy's neck stood on end and Castiel realized what he'd done.

Leviathans.

He'd let them out of Purgatory. And he didn't know how to send them back. Or if it was even possible.

They chuckled inside his head as he came to that realization.

_"No worries, dear friend. As a sign of our appreciation, the Winchesters will live. At least for now. You, however, will not."_


	6. The Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions Bobby’s absolute prick of a father and John fighting in Vietnam, but nothing in graphic detail.

_According to the Supernatural wiki, a Reaper is an angel that serves Death. They meet a person upon the end of his or her life and guide them to their final destination, whether it's Heaven or Hell._

 

* * *

 

**Bobby Singer**

His first encounter with a reaper was at the ripe old age of five, but he didn't realize what he'd seen until he was much older. His father was especially full of anger that night, knocking his mother unconscious with a swing of his right fist before she could apologize for burning dinner. When Bobby hollered at him to leave her alone, his father's rage exploded.

He grabbed Bobby by the collar and hauled him up onto the dinner table, using one arm to send plates and glasses crashing to the floor. Strong fingers gripped his neck like a vice, the other hand pounding the table next to Bobby's head. He glanced sideways and noticed his mother waking up, but as much as he struggled, he couldn't break free. His father's angry, booming voice filled his ears as he tried to pry his hands loose.

But the more he struggled, the harder it was to breathe and his father's yelling turned into a muffled string of curse words that sounded like they were underwater. His vision darkening, his eyes caught movement from the doorway to the dining room and right before he lost consciousness, he realized it was a man with brown hair and a beard, wearing a suit and tie.

When he woke up ten minutes later the man was gone and it was only his mother in the room, clutching him to her chest as she sobbed.

He didn't see that man again for a long time.

Not until he'd finished a few things for his boys, anyway.

**John Winchester**

He was in the jungles of Vietnam, surrounded by dead and injured Marines and clutching a rifle to his chest. His platoon walked straight into the trap set by the enemy, and those who were lucky enough to avoid the landmines fell into pits full of sharpened bamboo spears. The ones who hadn't died immediately were still screaming for help as the gunfire erupted.

When the shooting stopped there was no more screaming, just voices he didn't recognize speaking a language he didn't understand. Carefully and quietly he chambered his final round and from his place behind a tree a hundred yards out, he took aim at the the commanding officer and fired. The round hit its mark and the man crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.

John didn't hear the shot that entered his back- he only felt it when it slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. He landed face-down in a puddle of putrid water. As the pain blossomed across his back and chest his only thoughts were about finding a place to hide and whether or not the medic's pack was anywhere nearby. He didn't notice the brunette in a leather jacket standing off to his right until he rolled over onto his back to try and catch his breath.

Blood rattled in his throat and his question was no more than a whisper. "Who're you?"

Before she could answer he heard the thumping of an approaching helicopter. There was an explosion and more gunfire and he covered his head, rolling over and pressing his face into the mud. When a medic from the evac team found him a few minutes later, the woman was gone.

He didn't see her again until that hospital room in Sioux Falls all those years later.

**Jo Harvelle**

The moment that hellhound stepped out from behind Meg, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she knew at least one of them wouldn't live to see another day. She just never dreamed it would be her. The Winchesters were a lightning rod for bad luck, sure, but usually the brunt of it happened to them.

Then again, she'd always been a sucker for Dean and how much of a badass he was and if anyone could stop this apocalypse bullshit, it would be him. So of course she stepped up and shot that hellhound in the face when it pounced on Dean. Somebody had to, and she was sure she'd nailed it dead center. But they should have had more time- it was still writhing in the dirt behind Dean.

What she didn't realize was that hellhounds are dogs, after all, and they travel in packs. That's why she'd seen such a look of panic on Dean's face. He knew. He knew because he'd seen them before.

 _How could I have been so_ _**stupid** _ _?_

So here she sat, on the floor of a hardware store with an elastic bandage barely keeping her internal organs internal and her finger on a detonator, waiting. Waiting for Cas, Sam and Dean to get far enough away. Waiting for the end to come so the pain in her chest would stop. The pain that started the moment Dean kissed her.

Before she closed her eyes for the last time, she noticed a brunette in a leather jacket sitting on the floor several feet in front of her. The woman stood and approached Jo, holding out her hand, a gentle smile on her face.

"Time's up, Jo. Come with me."

**Mary Winchester**

The doctor kept telling her everything was fine, but deep down she knew something was wrong. She could feel it. But she was so tired after fourteen hours of labor that she didn't have the energy to fight with the doctor at the moment.

She'd gone into labor last night after dinner and when she'd told John, he went around the house in panic mode packing the bag she told him to pack a week ago.

"Come on, Marine! Get a move on, or you'll be delivering this kid yourself!"

She teased him from the kitchen while she cleared the table, pausing only to breathe through a contraction before taking out the trash. John appeared in the doorway behind her, their bags in his hands and look of sheer terror on his face.

"You're not that close, are you?"

Mary just laughed.

Once they got to the hospital, things had progressed normally. But somewhere around hour twelve, pushing became nearly impossible and she felt like she was floating away. She couldn't keep her eyes open and it was getting harder to breathe. John sat next to her, holding her hand and telling her to push one more time. She glanced over the doctor's shoulder and saw him standing there, waiting patiently.

She knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. And she refused to give it to him. With all the strength she could muster, she pushed. When she heard the baby cry, she glared at the reaper before she lost consciousness.

When she woke up two days later, John was struggling with an upset baby who, by the sound of it, had a healthy pair of lungs. Her eyes studied the room and when she didn't see the man in the suit, she felt the tears come. And when John saw she was awake, he handed Mary their son and collapsed into the chair next to the bed, sobbing.

"I thought we'd lost you, Mary."

She cradled Dean in one arm and ran her other hand through John's hair.

_Not today, John. Not today._

**Dean Winchester**

Dean woke up to screaming and smoke.

He rubbed his eyes and crawled out of bed. He followed the sounds and saw Dad in Sammy's nursery, rushing toward him with Sammy. He looked scared and before Dean could understand or ask why, his arms were full of screaming Sammy and Dad was giving him orders.

Dean turned and rushed toward the stairs that led down to the front door. Halfway down he felt a sharp chill move past him and he froze. The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood on end and his gaze moved slowly up the stairs. Something was there. He could feel it. He heard a voice over the chaos, but he couldn't see the figure on the landing watching him as he turned and fled.

_"Not yet, Dean. Go."_

The reaper watched as Dean spun around and darted from the house. He went into the nursery, his charge standing off to the right, watching herself burn on the ceiling above. Their eyes met and she shook her head, a single tear falling to her cheek. The reaper looked out the window to see Dean standing in the front yard, trying to calm Sammy down, the incident on the stairs all but forgotten in the chaos.

 _As it should be_ , he thought.

Years later, as he stood waiting while the hellhounds ended this man's life, the reaper smiled sadly when he recognized who he was there to collect.

_He looks just like his mother._

**Sam Winchester**

Unbeknownst to everyone, Sam was the oldest Winchester to see his first reaper.

He was relieved when he spotted Dean racing toward him. His shoulders went slack and the tension in his chest from the last few days unwound itself. But then he felt the blade pierce his spine and the moments of searing pain that followed. He felt the ground rush up to meet him when his legs stopped working. And he felt Dean wrap his arms around him, his worried voice against Sam's ear.

He didn't know who or what stabbed him, but he knew he wouldn't survive it. But he was a Winchester and they didn't give up, so he fought to stay awake, to stay with Dean as long as possible. Dean's voice faded further into the distance and Sam knew it wouldn't be long. If only he could wrap his arms around Dean and tell him it would be okay, that it was better this way.

Sam sensed a presence behind Dean and saw someone standing there. He rolled his eyes upward and saw a blonde woman wearing a navy suit. She wasn't smiling, but he sensed a kindness in her and took the hand she was holding out to him. He tried to turn around to see Dean one last time, but she stopped him.

"You don't want to see that, Sam."

He knew he wanted to, that he  _needed_  to, but he wasn't able to turn around. She led him away and he flinched when Dean's strangled cry echoed through the air.

Sam supposed reapers weren't much for small talk, but he had questions. And he wanted answers.

"Where are we going?"

She shrugged. "I'm not privy to that information. I only go as far as the door. I don't know what lies beyond."

Sam opened his mouth to ask her how long they would have to walk, but she cut him off with a squeeze of his hand.

"I have no answers, Sam. But we'll be there soon."

They continued walking for what felt like days, but Sam never tired. He felt no pain. No sadness. Not much of anything, really, until he saw the door. They stopped in front of it and at that moment, he felt fear wash over him. He was reasonably sure about what was beyond the door, but he wasn't ready to go yet. She allowed him to stand there for a moment before she spoke again.

"It's time, Sam."

He looked at her and she was leaning against the doorframe, a sympathetic smile on her face. He sighed and reached for the handle, but before he could open it, a warm hand gripped his wrist and he was being jerked backward.

He turned to see a man with red eyes wearing a black suit, a smug smile on his face. He winked at Sam before turning to the reaper.

"Sorry, darling. This one's not up for grabs any longer."

Sam figured the man was a crossroads demon, since he had no idea what other class of demons would get involved with something like this, but the red eyes were a new one, as was the accent. He watched while they argued, their faces inches apart as they yelled at each other.

"You can't do this, damn it! I've been waiting decades for him!"

"So have we, darling. But don't worry. You'll have another one a year from now, trust me."

Sam didn't have a chance to ask what they were talking about as the demon again grabbed his wrist and pulled him along like a puppy on a leash.

"What's going on? Why am I being taken back?"

"Mind your manners, Sam, and do as you're told."

Sam jerked his arm away and stopped, anger rising in his chest. "Yeah? And what's that?"

The demon smiled and cocked his head.

"Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. And forget we ever met."

He snapped his fingers and Sam woke up.

He wouldn't remember the reaper or the demon.


End file.
